


It Started With Tomatoes

by besthonestliar



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Ahonhonhon, Antonio sighs a lot, Bad Touch Trio make several appearances, Humour (I hope), M/M, The whole Europe lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-05-28 06:33:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6318448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besthonestliar/pseuds/besthonestliar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck in Germany with a pasta freak and a macho-potato, Lovino's primal urges for tomatoes finally overtake him as he goes on a tomato-buying spree, which leads him to bumping heads with this strange cheery man who is too nice for his own good...and knows an alarming amount about Lovino, despite him never seeing that man once before. </p><p>Francis somehow finds his son's blood brother and must deal with a grumpy, overprotective guardian while Gilbert is unable to accept the fact he has a goddamn thing for Francis' son.</p><p>Ludwig must manage this entire clumsy entourage and keep everyone alive until they reach the final destination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Death by a Various Collection of Stuff

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooo! I've had this idea for a while and I hope it works (I've never written Hetalia fanfic before). 
> 
> I will try and keep the updates consistent and thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started with tomatoes, pretty much.

 

 

* * *

 

Goddamnit! Lovino has had enough of this shit. Who cared if Feliciano had fallen head over heels for some macho potato bastard? Sure, his fratello's happiness was important but there were certain things he couldn't stand. Like the fact that he was being forced to join his little brother and Mr. Potatohead for their stupid trek around Germany in winter. Why couldn't the wurst-humping bastard choose to see the absolutely gorgeous, delightful sights in Italy? 

Lovino was getting off track. The problem, you see, was the local cuisine. Don't even get him started on it. Feliciano, had decided to temporarily join Pastaholics Anonymous and learnt how to make _godawful_ German cuisine. Every night out had been some kind of regional German speciality. All of Feliciano's meals were German. 

There was only so fucking long a true Italian could go for without the most precious things in life.

A) Tomatoes

B) Pasta

C) Pizza

It had only been a week but the lack of a certain round, red and juicy fruit had been enough to make Lovino want to kill everything. Which hadn't been possible nor achievable, so instead Lovino had got some of his own back by terrifying a grocer and buying five kilograms of potatoes then happily watching them burn and crumple to ash. He wasn't being extreme, damn it!

He'd even start having nightmares, where huge wursts would chase him around, trampling on his precious tomato patch. Lovino's longing for tomatoes had also been clear to his subconscious because there he was, in the world of stupid dreams, marrying a tomato. It was getting out of hand. Lovino was sick of this shit.

"Fratello~? Why so grumpy?" asked Feliciano. Why do you think, you oblivious pasta freak?

Lovino had cracked. Which was currently why he was in some random German supermarket filling his trolley with all the tomatoes available. People were walking past him, gasping in horror and confusion as the pile of heavenly tomatoes grew.

Not that he cared. His cheeks flared the same colour as his tomatoes.

"Fuck you! Stop staring, damnit!" he muttered at the staff laughing their heads off. The cherry tomatoes were out now, so he moved onto the plum tomatoes.

By the time Lovino had staggered to the checkout with a trolley full of tomatoes and dealt with the extremely unimpressed cashier, he'd realised something.

How the fuck was he going to take them back to the hotel? Yes, the potato bastard had a car but Lovino didn't have his phone and it was also six o'clock in the morning and utterly freezing. It was nearly December! Maybe the walk was only fifteen minutes but how could he carry this many tomatoes without crushing them? Or without inducing life-long back problems, for one. 

Mustering his strength and gritting his teeth, Romano grabbed the ten plastic bags and lifted. He could already feel the blood circulation in his arms being cut off by the weight of the bags. 

One minute later, Lovino was already panting and slightly sweaty. Two minutes later, he was forced to have a break and rub the red indents left on his wrists. Three minutes later, he was sure of his impending death. 

At five minutes it happened. A strap from the plastic bag was hanging down and being a clumsy idiot, he tripped.

"Fucking damniiit!" he screamed as he felt the ground leave him. He shielded his tomatoes from harm's way and smacked face first into the ground. 

"Son of a bitch," he muttered breathlessly.

This did not just happen. His arms and legs hurt like a _motherfucker_ and his face was stinging.

This is the end, Lovino thought, as his life flashed before his eyes. He was going to die here, on the floor, surrounded by a huge pile of tomatoes. What a blessing. But none of them would ever make their way into his mouth, much less his tomato-craving stomach.

Lovino began sending his will mentally to Feliciano before his thoughts were rudely interrupted by-

"Hello! Do you need any help?" came an extremely cheerful and right now, extremely irritating voice, tinged with a Spanish accent. 

Lovino looked up, wondering if had the strength to punch someone who dared to be so happy at six in the morning. Then-

His senses were being pleasantly assaulted and Lovino bristled at this invasion. Kind green eyes and a kinder smile stared back at him. Lovino blinked once, then twice. 

"I'm fine!" spat out Lovino angrily, trying to get to his feet. "You can leave!" He fell flat on his face again. Fuck, it stung. 

"I don't think you're right," cheerfully laughed the cheerfully cheerful man. Instead of leaving, he picked up ALL the bags of tomatoes in one hand and another hand tossed an angry Lovino over his shoulder.

"Fuck you! Let go of me!" roared Lovino, face red with fury (Was it really fury?). "Let go! You bastard! Shitsack! Dickwad! Just let go!"

The man paid no heed and gave a lilting laugh. Was he some kind of fucking weight-lifting muscleman? Just like the macho potato?

"Where are you going, you damn jerk?" Lovino decided he was being kidnapped and he hadn't even had a chance to eat any of his tomatoes yet. Goddamnit. 

"It is the hotel, si?" said the man, shoving his ugly cheerful smiling face in front of Lovino. 

"HOW THE HELL DO YOU KNOW, BASTARD?" yelled Lovino, totally not in the mood for a stalker kidnapping him. He wanted to go and eat tomatoes and two months worth of tomato sauce, damnit!

"I'm A-" began the man but Lovino cut him off.

"I don't care!" he screamed. "Let me down!"

"Fratello~? What's happening?" came the frantic cries of Feliciano as he rushed out the doors of the hotel, completely naked.

Wait a damn second. Completely naked? _Completely fucking bare?_

And there it was, in all its glory, Feliciano's stupid dick. Lovino thought the potato bastard had managed to stop this! What a useless excuse of a boyfriend-cum-acquaintance. More acquaintance than anything, of course. 

"Chigiiiii! Get that out of my sight!" pleaded Lovino desperately, hands clasped and shaking at the sky. The powerful rays of the sun sizzled, frying his eyeballs, emerging from the grey clouds just to help him.

It hurt like a fucking bitch. But this extreme pain had censored out whatever the fuck was between Feliciano's legs, which most definitely wasn't pasta.

Somewhere between the period of time that Lovino had been screaming in, A- had persuaded Feliciano to head inside and lent him a shirt and was still holding Lovino, who- SHIT. The man was shirtless and Lovino found his now sweaty palms pressed against warm tanned skin.

Blinded by panic, Lovino had clung onto this random stranger, looped over him like some big baby. He looked up and looming in front him was that repulsive, disgusting face that Lovino wanted to touch more. Very badly.

No he didn't.

"PUT ME DOWN NOW!" Lovino shrieked and the man did, smiling in that genuinely-cheerful person way that irritated him to no end.

"I'm Antonio," said the vile ugly lump of flesh. "I hope you're OK, you were clinging really hard to me!" 

Lovino's face turned the colour of his precious tomatoes. "Was not, you-you fucking jerk,"

"I mean, I put you down to lend a shirt to Feli but then you kinda grabbed me!" continued Antonio, seeming oblivious to what Lovino said. "You're so sweet! And you haven't even told me your name yet!" Sweet was possibly the last adjective Lovino had expected.

Being called sweet by a shirtless stranger at seven in the morning, while surrounded by twenty kilograms of tomatoes was not something Lovino ever expected to happen. Should he say his name? What if Antonio stalked him? Killed him? Or even worse, killed Feliciano, then gramps?

Shut up, mind. The useless pile of trash labeled 'Lovino's brain' is of no use whatsoever. 

"I'm Lovino, you super-muscled freak!" he got out, with as much venom as possible.

Antonio smiled, sparkling eyes crinkled softly at the edges as Lovino felt his skin heating up and going pink and he looked away from those captivatingly gorgeous green eyes. He didn't want another sunburn. They're a pain in the ass to deal with. 

"Can I call you Lovi?" said Antonio, exuberating warm sunshine. "A cute name for such a cute person!" 

Puffed up with rage, Lovino strutted forward, deciding to smack some sense into this weird over-affectionate man. Lovino was many things. He was brave, handsome, a excellent flirt, amazing, taller than Feliciano for fuck's sake (yes he is, don't look at me like that) but he was not CUTE. He was fucking majestic, that's what he was.

This notion of hitting Antonio, which might reveal the finer points of Lovino's peaceful personality  was a plan steeped in failure, like his life, as Antonio reached out to trap Lovino in a hug. 

Calloused hands rested gently on his back and Lovino inhaled sharply at the sudden contact, only to be attacked by Antonio's smell, something that reminded him of Grandpa's kitchen back in Italy. Ah, the faint scent of tomatoes.

It's warm and familiar and VERY NOT WELCOME DID HE MENTION THAT? 

"G-get off me, you pervert! And give my tomatoes back!" He shoved himself away from Antonio, bracing himself as if he was about to be attacked. 

Antonio, for some goddamn reason, laughed again. "I really like you, Lovi."

Lovino had never been so angry (and flustered) and he took one look at Antonio again, absolutely did not blush profusely, then raced back into the hotel, clutching his precious tomatoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try and make Romano a little less tsundere, mainly because I'm not that fond of fanfic where Lovi just turns red and stutters angrily while hitting things. It 's in his character but I don't want to overdo it. Gonna make him a bit more mature.
> 
> edit: lol


	2. Presenting The Ret of The Cast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the BTT's situation is summarised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, as I'm writing I realised that romance isn't going to be the focus (well it will be obvious)...er...what I wanted to say is that don't expect the Spamano too quickly.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

After watching Lovi flush and run away, Antonio stood there rooted to the spot.   
His little Lovi had grown up to be so adorable! Unbeknownst to Lovi, Antonio, had in fact, known Lovi very well as a child but Lovi didn't remember him!

He'd tried to assume that this was because of Lovi's accident and not because Lovi had felt that he was important enough to forget about. Or maybe...? 

Antonio shook his head firmly. Lovi would definitely remember him...eventually. Gah! This was no good. He looked like a creep right now, eyes fondly gazing at the spot where Lovi had been standing and sighing tragically. Antonio should probably head back now to his party crew.

"Toniii!" thundered a ferociously scratchy voice that normally drives one nuts. Antonio, however was used to it and maybe even enjoyed the company of this loud explosion in front of him.

"Hola, Gilbert!" he said, stepping into the threshold of the hotel room. "Where's Francis? And where were you yesterday?"

Gilbert Beilschmidt slid a sideways glance at Antonio and stroked his chin in an overdramatic gesture of deep philosphising-ness or whatever it was called. 

"Francis is...currently occupied with other interests," tried out Gilbert, still stroking his chin, "No! No! His services are currently unavailable to you. Did ya hear that, Antonio? Don't I sound posh?"

Antonio sighed internally and reconsidered his earlier statement. "Gil, the first one sounded better. Now it sounds like Francis is some kind of prostitute. Where is he?"

"You know that bushy-browed gentleman and his adopted son, who we crashed into yesterday?" Realisation dawned upon Antonio who understood exactly what Francis is off doing. 

"Which one did he go for?" Gilbert smirked knowingly.

"Surprisingly, the one blessed by excess eyebrows," snickered Gilbert, "I thought Mr. Loud and Energetic would be his type more?" 

"Perhaps Francis is ready to look for a permanent relationship now," replied Antonio, reasonably enough. "And where were you?"

"Visiting my baby brother, West!" shouted Gilbert excitably, "He's gotten all cosy with this cute little Italian and they're travelling around to see Germania so I thought I'd check Feli out, no no no, not like that, Toni, make sure he's good enough for my West. He is! But Feli's brother..."

"Your grandpa is not called Germania," said Antonio, "And _why_ didn't you tell me that Lovi was here if you knew all along?"

Gilbert's mouth widened as if this idea had never occurred to him. "Oh yeah..." Antonio smiled ruefully. 

"Oh, did you know Francis has a son?" suddenly blurted out Gilbert, very loudly. Antonio's eyes widened in disbelief as his ears took in this extraordinary piece of information. "Francis?"

Gilbert nodded emphatically and adopted his 'philosopher' pose again. "I saw him when I followed Francey-pants. I think he's Canadian..." Gilbert's pale skin darkened considerably and then- "An' he's really c-cute." 

Antonio didn't know what the mumbled whisper meant but gathered the meaning all the same. "You fancy Francis' son, of all people?"

Gilbert's mouth opened in reply, only to emit a high-pitched squeak and he frantically rushed past Antonio, most likely to the nearest bar. 

Not for the first time this morning, Antonio sighed. 

 

* * *

 

Hundreds of tomatoes, in bulging plastic bags or nestled on shelves were in Vargas' room as Vargas himself was sprawled on his bed, thankfully taking a clothed siesta. As much as Ludwig appreciated Feliciano, trying to get a small, excitable Italian to put his clothes back on was not very enjoyable, even if it made Ludwig's ears turn red. 

He privately thanked the kind Spanish man who'd lent his shirt to Feliciano, which meant that Ludwig himself didn't have to strip and carry Feliciano off, while looking awfully suspicious. His name was Antonio, wasn't it? Ludwig's memory stirred and he strained to remember where he had heard this. Of course, it was one of Gilbert's friends.

Vargas had indeed had an interesting reaction to him.

Kneeling down, Ludwig slowly began tidying the room. Those damned Italian brothers never failed to keep him busy.

* * *

  
  
As soon as Matthew and Francis caught sight of two specific people two specific days ago, they both turned to look at each other. 

"Dad, that-he-" stuttered Matthew. "He looks just like me,  what-" 

Mon Dieu. This was decidedly not supposed to happen. Francis thought he could happily go travelling, while concealing a child (child? adult?) and carry on lying to Antonio and Gilbert. What was not supposed to happen was a fateful reunion between Matthew and his long-lost brother. What are the odds? 

The two people who strolled past them were as opposite as could be. The older one had thick sand eyebrows, as well as the refined air of a seasoned gentleman and was dressed in a trench coat, looking very smart. The young man beside him however wore flashy clothes that made Francis want to claw out his own throat in horror at the terrible sight and was energetic and loud. The only thing they had in common was they seemed to both have terrible taste in food. 

Before Francis could stop Matthew, for the usually shy and quiet Matthew there was a lot of noise. 

"Alfred! Is that you?" he screamed, dashing over to the pair. The gentleman's face twisted into polite shock. Francis was in shock too but there was nothing polite about it at all. 

The bespectacled man turned and Francis bit back a groan, realising just how similar those two looked. The gentleman seemed to have worked it out as well because gone was the polite shock.

"What the heck is going on here?" yelped the gentleman, British as can be. "Alfred-" Alfred was focusing on something else, namely his little brother.

“Mattie? Mattie!" he screamed excitedly, running full pelt toward Matthew, before they collided and tumbled into a messy embrace. "Is that really you?" He had an unfathomable American accent which jumped from state to state. What had been a New York accent somehow travelled to a southern drawl.   
  
"It's Matthew Williams!" yelled Matthew, volume at par with Alfred, "And you're Alfred F. Jones!"

"That's right!" screamed Alfred, tugging Matthew frantically. "I haven't seen you for sixteen years! Mattie, you're so big now! And Canadian!" Mattie laughed, which is absolutely adorable, except he's not laughing with Francis!  
  
At this point, the British man can't seem to hold it in and strode angrily over to Alfred. Francis stayed where he was, in the shadows, now silently appreciating this soap opera scene, as he swished the imaginary wine around in his imaginary wineglass.

“Alfred! What is the meaning of this?” snapped the man, angrily but fondly. “Do you know this person?”

Alfred, whose eyes are twinkling with tears, nodded furiously. “That’s my little bro, Dad!”

A slight tint of rose appeared on the man’s cheeks. “I’ve told you now, there’s no need to call me that. Arthur is fine!” So, it’s Arthur?

Matthew suddenly looked around wildly. “Dad? Where are you?” There is no choice but for Francis to reveal himself dramatically.

With a grand sweep of his travelling cloak (yes, a _travelling cloak_ ), Francis emerged and looped and arm around Matthew’s shoulder. Matthew gave him a look, one that said _dad what the fucking hell are you doing don’t you dare embarrass me with your French ways._ It seems that despite not being blood-related, Matthew had inherited Francis’ great skill in non-verbal communication.

“ _Bonjour, mes amis!_ ” If Matthew didn’t want to be embarrassed, that was definitely what was going to happen. “I happened to witness this touching reunion actually and _why_ didn’t you ever tell me about this, Matthew?”

Slowly, Matthew’s face turned a shade of puce in anger and mortification at the outrageous flamboyancy of his insane father. The passive-aggressive glare of _I will fuck you up_ was unquestionably directed at Francis. Ah, he had raised his son well indeed.

Arthur and Alfred stared at this interestingly eccentric figure. They noted his stylishly cut blond hair and his purple _cloak_ that simply demanded attention and then looked at Matthew, who had unruly mousy hair and was small, taciturn-looking and put slightly harshly, a background character. What? Arthur frowned in his mind. Great. An ugly, frog-faced. _Frenchman_.

“I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure if my memories were accurate or not,” said Matthew evenly, emotions now firmly in check again.

“Well, you are-?” demanded Arthur, all traces of politeness gone. Francis’ nerves ticked in irritation.

“Francis Bonnefoy. And you are-?” mimicked Francis immaturely, in a stupendously awful imitation at a British accent.

“Arthur Kirkland, you bloody frog.” They glowered menacingly at each and entered some kind of staring competition. While they looked daggers at each other, Francis realised with an abrupt horror how this Brit actually had a very good genetics despite the eyebrows _._ Arthur stared at Francis’ eyes and body then thought _oh shit, what the flying fuck_ because as much as he hated to admit it, Francis wasn’t ugly.

Matthew looked exasperatedly at his father and sighed. Even if it didn’t seem obvious, Francis definitely found Arthur interesting. Alfred wondered if what Kiku had called ‘tsundere traits’ was what Arthur was exhibiting. They made eye contact and nodded. If one thing for sure, the two brothers could both feel the palpable amount of sexual tension in the air. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got to love Gil.


	3. The Troubles of Matthew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovino wants to find out some things so he follows Francis to his room and things go in a very unexpected way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so I failed the 'consistent updates' as usual. 
> 
> Also, don't expect people to get together really quickly. (I guess it's what you'd call slow burn?)

When Lovino finally woke up, he discovered that it was midday and he’d been deserted by Feliciano. Also, his room was fucking spotless. That macho potato must’ve come in when he was sleeping. Well, Lovino was hungry and he wanted food now, so he wandered out his room after a tomato or ten, searching for food.

He would definitely say that he was in a better mood than the morning. However the next thing he saw immediately downed him back to the incoherent mess he was in the morning. Of all people to be walking down the corridor was goddamn _Francis_. As if that Gilbert bastard wasn’t bad enough. Were they travelling together? Ugh.

“ _Bonjour_!” called Francis, waving elegantly. “Feli’s brother, right?”

“Don’t fucking call Feliciano ‘Feli’, you jerk,” replied Lovino, more heatedly than he had meant to. “Why are you here anyway?”

Francis brushed away non-existent tears from his eyes and smirked. “I, as part of the Bad Touch Trio, am searching for _amour_ with my friends.” Lovino scowled.

“Well, this stupid Bad Touch Trio obviously has no one with any intellect in it,” sniped Lovino airily. “Is that dumbass Gilbert with you?”

Francis laughed mockingly, as fake as could be. “Of course, my dear Lovi,” he paused momentarily. “Antonio too.” Lovino’s brain paused for a moment and he let out a blank-faced ‘huh?’.

Antonio? That friendly, kind asshole was friends with people like them? Humph. Not that Lovino had expected better from a pervert like him. Obviously he’d be friends with Francis. So? He didn’t care. In fact, why had this even shocked him?

“Lovi, you’re blushing!” Francis laughed into his face. The wine bastard was way, way, way too close to Lovino because he could smell revolting French perfume. “Antonio’s right when he said you looked like a tomato, all those years ago.”

Francis breathed a sigh, as if in a trance of nostalgia. Alarms began to tick in Lovino’s already over-fried brain – what did Francis mean?

“What the fuck do you mean by all those years ago?” snapped Lovino. “I’ve never seen that cheerful idiot in my life!” Francis suddenly stopped doing his ‘old man deep in memories’ impression and looked at him, as if he had just said something extremely stupid.

“What do _you_ mean, you’ve never seen Toni?” Francis couldn’t believe it. Had Lovi really forgotten about the person who practically raised him? Well…he really didn’t expect Lovi to believe anything that he said to him because Lovi hated him unspeakably for some reason. After all, hadn’t Antonio drilled (threatened, more like) it into him and Gilbert that under no circumstances would deal with his situation with Lovi.

“What do you mean what do I mean?” demanded Lovino, face flushed angrily. “Tell me!”

“Big brother says no,” smiled Francis and he walked smoothly past Lovino then turned a corner. As soon as he turned that corner, he fucking ran for his life. “Although if you want me to tell you, there are a number of things you could do for big brother.”

“Fuck off!” screamed Lovino. He curled his lip in annoyance. So that wino wasn’t going to tell him anything, was he? He’d just find Antonio himself.

 _Wait. Find Antonio?_ W-why the hell would he do that? Lovino was very close to slapping himself in the face. Yeah. That was right. He didn’t give a shit about what went down with Antonio. He wasn’t curious at all.

Nope. Not at all. Not even a tiny bit. _Fuck that!_ He was absolutely dying to know! Now where was that fucking Antonio?

Wait a moment. Surely the wino and the other loud bastard would know where his room was? After weren’t they the-what was it again? Bad Taste Trio?

Utilising his espionage skills, Lovino sneakily ducked down and peered around the corner Francis had turned down, only to see him goddamn sprinting down the long hallway, and a very long hallway it was. Unluckily for Francis, Lovino Vargas, despite not looking it, was an excellent runner. As soon as Francis turned left, Lovino dashed down the corridor, trying to keep his rapid footfalls light.

Francis went left so he paused momentarily, before going after him. After not long, Francis stopped and rapped smartly on a door, which opened, to a loud screech.

The screech wasn’t made by a door. It was Antonio, in shock. After Gilbert had left, he’d still been trying to comprehend the conversation beforehand. Francis had a son? _Francis_ had a son? _Francis had a son? What?_ That man had definitely been smoother than he seemed if he had managed to hide a goddamn child from Antonio so many years.

After overcoming his denial and still remembering the possibility that Gilbert was simply drunk out his mind, the anger started hazing over his mind, repeating the thought of _did he not trust us?_

Francis frowned at the slightly murderous look on Antonio’s face. “Toni? Are you OK?” he asked cautiously, carefully watching for the Spaniard’s reaction.

Antonio’s mouth open and closed like a goldfish blowing bubbles a few time. OK. He wasn’t going to ask Francis about his possible son because that would be rude and require too many explanations that he was too tired for.

“S-s-s-s-son? Son? Son!” he screamed hysterically at Francis. Francis’ expression spelled out _fuck, I’m getting out of here._ Not so fast. Antonio grabbed the silky material of Francis’ cloak, nearly strangling him as he tried to get away.

“Je ne sais pas!” blundered Francis at first, somewhat bemused. “Toni – you, hang on, how did you find out?”

“Never mind that!” cried Antonio exasperatedly, “You owe me some explanations!” Francis sighed and remained standing at the door.

“It was a long time ago and after a certain round of drinking, I ended up having a full-blown existential crisis, I mean I even considered dropping out of school! So with a rather brash conclusion, I believe I thought I needed something to tie me to this world so I ended up with a kid!” Hm. It did sound like something the overdramatic Francis would do but at the same time…

“Who is he? What’s his name? What’s his age? Who’s the _mother_?” He was determined to squeeze this news out of Francis, no matter what it took.

Francis’ eyes softened as he spoke. “Matthew Williams is twenty-one and he is the best decision I’ve made in my life.” One answer was missing.

“The mother? And how is Matthew twenty-one if you’re only thirty-seven?” gabbled Antonio in a stream of words. “I mean, I already knew you were a massive manwhore and everything but I didn’t think it would be as a result of your terrible childhood history of trauma and sexual abuse and-and-and-”

Francis curled his lip slightly as Antonio continued to bluntly insult him repeatedly. “Come on, you know my childhood is perfectly ordinary. Do you really think of me like that? Only Gilbert would do something as stupid as that. Obviously Mattie is adopted!”

Antonio recognised the slightly cagey hurt tone Francis was speaking. Shit. He’d just been shocked and confused.

Meanwhile, Lovino was trying to hide his sniggers as he eavesdropped on this extremely ridiculous conversation. Francis was messed up, although one part of Lovino, the rarely-revealed and more sensitive bit, was trying to empathise with Francis. Well, he wasn’t listening to that bit.

What was also great was getting to see that Spanish bastard sound less smooth and confident than he had been earlier this morning. So he was actually a loser like Francis and Gilbert.

“Can I meet him, Francis?” said Antonio excitedly, having completely forgotten about how traumatised he had been by the idea. “Can I be his uncle?”

Lovino snorted loudly at the notion and immediately gave away his hidden eavesdropping location around the corner. An awkward silence filled the room as Antonio and Francis whipped their heads round at the door, hearts pounding. The second thing they knew was that whoever that bastard eavesdropping on them was, he was not going to be able to escape with his life.

Lovino was straight-up terrified and cursed himself repeatedly in his mind because he would be absolutely screwed if Antonio or Francis saw him! He had the feeling that this wasn’t the kind of conversation you could share freely and as much as he wanted to know whatever Francis had been talking about earlier, it was not worth it.

But he was fucking dead because there was only a long corridor behind him, full of closed doors that required keys to open. He could try and perhaps pass himself off as someone strolling casually to their room? Not a chance. Both Francis and Antonio knew what he looked like and that little curl in his hair made him pretty goddamn distinctive.

Wildly, Lovino glanced behind him and…there it was. An open door about fifty metres down the corridor. He…he could do it! Yes! He could sprint the hell down that corridor and into that room and if someone was inside, he could just act like he’d gone into the wrong room by accident. It would all work out and he would be safe. Hopefully. Somehow. Please.

“Who the _fuck_ is there?” snarled Francis, stomping out the room. His angry, heavy footfalls were echoing across the hotel. The romantic Francis had become quite the opposite of what he usually was.

In this second, Lovino had never been so glad that the potato bastard had forced him and Feli to run repeatedly (although he was never going to admit it) because as his right foot slammed down on the rickety wood of the floor, the muscle memory hit him full force and off he went. His arms were propelling him, swinging at light-speed as his trusty feet carried him to his saving grace. The fear and adrenaline pumping through him increased his efforts further – well, hadn’t he and Feli always been rather good at running away? A few more steps, just a few more-he grabbed the door handle of the open door and halted his sprint, feet dragging heavily on the carpet. With his utmost strength, he dived through the door and slammed it shut (very quietly), only to knock down someone straight in front of him. But nothing mattered from now because Lovino was now officially a badass and _safe._

“Ah!” cried the person in front of him and they landed face-first onto the floor, only to be winded further as Lovino’s full weight piled onto him. Lovino really was very sorry. He really was. If only he could get rid of that cheesy grin on his face. He was a superstar!

The person turned around and stared at Lovino, sweaty and panting. The man was wearing a red t-shirt and white shorts patterned with maple leaves. Soft curls framed his pale face and violet eyes stared in horror from plastic lenses. Lovino also noted the odd curl of hair springing away from the man’s face and an absolutely _enormous_ stuffed polar bear toy on the bed.

“Who-who are you?” whispered the man very quietly, so quietly that Lovino didn’t hear a word.

“I’m sorry, what?” said Lovino.

“Why are you in my room?” said the man, now at a normal volume. “You don’t look like a worker here…”

“I’m sorry!” cried Lovino immediately, words spilling uncontrollably from his mouth. “You see I was running away from some people because I was accidentally eavesdropping on them and they heard me and your door was open and it was the only place I could hide myself.” He paused and remembered the initial question. “I’m Lovino Vargas!”

The man stared again then started laughing. “Seriously?” he said. “That’s really cool! My name is Matthew Williams.” Matthew didn’t seem to be fazed at all by the odd turn of events. Evidently, he was tougher than he looked (the truth is Matthew was too used to Francis’ various oddities).

Hang on a second. Wasn’t Matthew Williams the son of that wine bastard? The adopted one? The only thought that crossed Lovino’s shell-shocked mind was ‘Francis managed to raise a decent person?’

“You-you’re Francis’ son!” he blurted out, pointing an accusing finger at Matthew, who looked confused.

“You know my father?” gasped Matthew in surprise. “I guess you must be quite close to Papa if he told you about me. I mean, I’ve never met many of his friends as Papa doesn’t really bring people home. Does that mean you know Uncle Gilbert and Antonio?”

What the fuck? Why was Francis trying so hard to hide the existence of Matthew from those other idiots? Was he ashamed or scared or something? Well, whatever it was, it was definitely some kind of dumb reason that Lovino would never be able to understand not even in one million years because Matthew seemed to be one of the most decent people Lovino had met.

“You see…well…” Lovino scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “This is probably going to come out sounding pretty damn wrong but I was outside Antonio’s room when Francis was talking and I guess…um…Antonio and Gilbert didn’t know you existed and Antonio had just found out? I’m really sorry for intruding, please don’t kill me!”

Matthew’s face darkened and Lovino squeaked like a mouse that had been trodden on. Upon hearing this, thankfully Matthew’s face relaxed back into the easy smile he had been wearing.

“It’s OK,” he reassured the close-to-screaming Lovino. “I’m just sick of people never remembering me or knowing who I am and I’m just-“ The evil expression returned. “-I’m just going to _kill_ Papa when I see him.” Lovino had no reply for that.

“Are you on holiday here?” asked Matthew politely, realising the need to change the subject.

“Huh?” said Lovino, mildly disorientated. “Oh, I am. My brother Feli and his-his-his friend are travelling through Germany and I’m here to protect Feli from unwanted advances from-from…from stuff!” Matthew nodded then his eyes widened a fraction.

“By Feli, do you by any chance mean Feliciano Vargas?” said Matthew timidly. “I’m really sorry if I’m wrong, but I have a friend named Ludwig and he told me he’d be travelling with his boyfriend Feliciano and his brother.” What was this bizarre coincidence?

“Y-you know the potato bastard?” yelled Lovino, the unfortunate nickname slipping out. Matthew seemed a bit shocked by the vulgar nickname but decided it could perhaps be an inside joke of some sort (he was wrong).

“W-well, Ludwig is Uncle Gilbert’s younger brother and I bumped into him at college one day.”

Is it really a small world, thought Lovino in wonder. New vistas of truth were bursting inside him as pieces slowly began to fit together. And how was the loud, raucous Gilbert the older brother of serious, well-mannered (n-not really!) Ludwig?

“So, are you here on holiday as well?” asked Lovino, feeling that his usual mannerisms weren’t as suited for Matthew, also including the fact that as the minutes passed, he was liking him more and more.

“Well, I came with Papa but then there was the most amazing coincidence ever!” exclaimed Matthew, eager to spill the gossip. There were way too many coincidences, thought Lovino sourly. “I found my brother Alfred!”

“Your brother?” repeated Lovino, unable to say anything else.

“Yes!” grinned Matthew happily, “Because I’m adopted, we were separated when we were about ten when Alfred got kicked out the care home but Papa and I bumped into him a few days ago!”

“Th-that’s great!” stammered Lovino, now completely at a loss. “I guess I should go back to my own room soon.” If Antonio and Francis weren’t still wandering around, that is.

“I’ll go check for you,” said Matthew and he cautiously widened the door a crack, while Lovino stood in the background, anxiously watching for signs of danger.

“Matthew, my dear!” boomed the wine bastard’s voice, echoing off the walls. “I think it is time I introduced you to my esteemed and cherished friend Antonio Fernandez Carriedo!” Lovino let out an inaudible shriek, aghast as Francis’ stubbled face loomed through the tiny crack in the door. Lovino could simply _hear_ the evil ohonhonhons echoing in the background.

“H-hello, Papa,” greeted Matthew, panicking immediately.

“Bathroom.” He turned around and mouthed to Lovino, who immediately threw himself into the bathroom and hid himself in the bathtub while simultaneously throwing the shower curtain to cover himself. After a second of contemplation, Lovino decided that locking the door would just prove Matthew was hiding something and he didn’t want to drag his new friend (if you could call it that) into his mess.

“You must be Uncle Antonio!” came Matthew’s overly bright voice, muffled by the door.

“I can’t believe it,” whispered Antonio, hands hiding his face. “I’m an uncle!” Matthew let out that awkward ‘ha ha’ to try and let the situation feel less weird. Francis smiled winningly as he presented his amazing son. That was when Matthew gave Francis the most blood-chilling stare in history, accompanied with a creepy smile that made Francis break into an unstylish cold sweat.

“W-what’s the matter, Matthew?” he said haltingly. He’d never seen a stare of that calibre, not even during the hockey season.

“A little word please, Papa,” hissed Matthew as he half-dragged Francis towards him, surrounded by a menacing aura. Antonio looked on, amused, sure it was just a touching father-to-son moment.

“Why did you never tell your best friends that I existed?” snarled Matthew very quietly, while smiling sweetly. This only scared Francis speechless. What was this aggression showing on his little angel’s face? He had half a mind to try and soothe Matthew with Kumajiro.

“Well, I-,” said Francis, with a grand sweep of his arms. Damnit, he was so screwed. “I…”

“Was it that you were ashamed of me?” said Matthew acidly. “Because if that’s the reason, then why did you adopt me? Or because you were scared of their reactions? Or because I made you ‘feel old’?”

All of these reasons hit the bulls-eye perfectly and Francis cringed inwardly, defenceless.

“You're right, Mathieu,” replied Francis wearily, slipping back into his French pronunciation of ‘Matthew’. The only thing he could do here was be honest. “I was wrong and I’m sorry.”

Rather taken aback, Matthew gaped for a few moments then his expression went back to normal. “Well, I’m glad that’s settled,” he said shortly, now thinking of how he could shoo his Papa and Uncle Antonio away.

Crash! The door screamed as it banged against the wall hard, as a wild creature barrelled through. What? Matthew’s face twisted in confusion. Another unexpected visitor?

“Franny! Toni! Why are you here?” screeched a raspy voice. “You two locked the fucking door and I seriously need to piss!”

“Excuse me?” said Matthew, nonplussed. A dishevelled silver-haired man stood in the doorway, bent over and panting heavily.

“Gilbert!” cried Francis, head already spinning at the thought of having to explain everything again.

“Oh, it’s OK,” smiled Antonio, “He told me.” Francis choked on air.

Uncle Gilbert finally looked up – straight at Matthew then turned maroon. Behind them, Antonio sighed extremely loudly.

“You must be Uncle Gilbert,” said Matthew politely. “If you need the toilet, you can use mine.” He grabbed Uncle Gilbert’s arm to lead him to the toilet and the man stumbled his way across the room, obviously unbalanced. Matthew shrugged it off and opened the bathroom door, just as an urgent thought raced across his mind.

Lovino was still here, wasn’t he?


	4. Prumano? More like Bromano!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovino tries to leave the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The climax of the entire fic (just kidding). 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Ehehehe.

What was Matthew doing? Lovino was already sweating puddles in the shower, as he tried his hardest to stay stock still, as if even a single breath would give him away. Although the sweat beading on his forehead was also due to the bathroom being stuffy and cramped and in the heat of summer, it was akin to being in a sun-lit greenhouse.

He could hear incoherent muffled voices from the door but then the hairs on the back of his neck prickled when Lovino heard the unmistakeable creaking of a door handle being tugged downwards. No, no, no! Had Matthew forgotten about him?

“T-thanks,” gasped a scratchy voice from the direction of the bathroom entrance, as the sound of heavy boots on tile increased. The door swung shut with a clang, then the dreaded turn of a lock, then the unzipping of trousers…then Lovino could hear the trickling of piss. A chill shuddered down his spine and he gulped.

“Man, I’m awesome,” sighed the scratchy voice in pure relief and to his horror, Lovino realised the man peeing was none other than Gilbert. W-why him?

“My ten-metres of awesome feels soo much better,” said Gilbert to himself, unknowingly and innocent to the fact Lovino was now close to pissing himself with laughter. What was he doing? Who talked while peeing? As Lovino clutched his sides in a silent fit, Gilbert nonchalantly began to hum under his breath and he was still peeing. How much was in his bladder?

“I’m the best, feel free to worship me!” sang Gilbert, terribly flat and out of tune. Chuckles rose in Lovino’s throat as he fought to keep them down. Laughing was what had got him into this mess in the first place and he wasn’t keen to repeat his mistake – but whatever Gilbert was doing was fucking hilarious. Damn. Fucking damn it.

After what seemed centuries, Lovino heard the zipping up of trousers and the gush of the flushing toilet but not the running water of a tap, meaning Gilbert hadn’t bothered with washing his hands at all. Absolutely disgusting.

Suddenly the clickety-clack of plastic loops bumping against each other rang out as Gilbert’s back brushed against the white shower curtains. Lovino stiffened in terror, holding his breath and tried to stop his hands shaking.

“Eh?” said Gilbert, not unlocking the bathroom door. Lovino’s mouth opened in a silent scream and he froze completely. How did Gilbert hear anything? Lovino was positive that he hadn’t made a sound. “My greatness tells me that something is amiss here...” What the fuck was up with that guy? Lovino squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for what disasters would occur next.

He could hear the shower curtain being slowly drawn open, but pigheadedly he refused to open his eyes because somehow if he didn’t open them, maybe he could convince himself that nothing was happening and he was still in his room, not discovering Francis’ stupid past.

“Scheiße!” gasped Gilbert as he stared at the sweaty, trembling man in the bathtub who suspiciously bore a resemblance to West’s Italian. “I know people want me but man, you really top the list. You could’ve just asked.”

“Shut up!” cried Lovino a little too loudly. Luckily the noise was drowned out by the sound of a cork being ripped out a bottle and heavy cheering. “I was just hiding from you and your dumbass friends in here!”

“Franny and Toni?”

“Yes.” Heaving a heavy sigh, Lovino got out the bathroom. “I hate you and everything but I’m desperate so please can you just leave this room and pretend that you never saw me in here.”

“B-b-but you were watching me piss and…” Gilbert narrowed his eyes. “You were in Mattie’s room. Why are you here? And who are you?” Why did Gilbert call Matthew Mattie? Weren’t they just have supposed to met?

“Who am I…what the hell do you mean you don’t know who I am?” sniffed Lovino, deeply offended. “I’m Feli’s brother. You know, that potato’s-ugh-boyfriend.”

“Oh…” breathed Gilbert, “So that’s why you looked familiar to me! Well, any friend of West is a friend of mine but except you said you hate me so that kind of complicates things doesn’t it, oh well but I guess…Ha!” Gilbert’s eyes started gleaming, enraptured with the light from above.

“Toni mentioned you before, come to think of it. I think he likes you quite a bit!” Lovino’s face screwed up, affronted. Why would Antonio like him? Plus, Lovino wasn’t exactly that amazing. He was slightly afraid to admit it, but he acknowledged that he was a useless sleaze.

I mean, he either slept, complained or ate and swore copiously at strangers, was aggressive without explanation, useless at work and chores, lazier than a pig, a vile glutton and very good at driving people away. Although he could cook, one of his only redeeming skills.

“So how about we make a deal?” said Gilbert, smirking as he examined the imaginary playing cards in between his outspread fingers. He took a drag on his imaginary cigar as well. “I keep quiet about this and try to help you leave this room and you be less mean to Toni and help me…” Gilbert went abruptly purple but he stammered on bravely. “You help me g-g-get to know Mattie better and stuff…”

“Hold the fuck up!” demanded Lovino, “First of all, this deal is shitty. It’s completely geared towards your own selfish interests. Number two, you like Matthew? Isn’t he twenty-one, while you’re practically ancient?” Gilbert pressed a hand to his chest, as if to try to soothe the burn Lovino had just applied.

“Gil!” called Antonio, from outside the bathroom. “Is your stomach OK? Too much beer?”

“I’ll be out real quick, Toni. Just finishing off that diarrhoea!” chirped Gilbert toothily back, not realising he sounded suspiciously cheerful.

“Oh man,” groaned Lovino, “If you want Mattie, why did you say that? He’s there too you know!”

“This is why I need your help!” begged Gilbert, “And for your information I’m only eight years older than Mattie anyway!”

Lovino considered this carefully. Did someone as kind and cool as Matthew need a loudmouthed and uncouth guy? Was Matthew even gay? Mostly, Lovino just wanted to leave the bathroom.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” he snapped, “so go and get me out of here already without anyone noticing. Also, Matthew can probably help you too.” With limited grace, the silver-haired man smirked and saluted, before sliding open the door.

Matthew stood awkwardly in the centre of the room, not sure what to do. Francis and Antonio were laughing raucously and had spilled champagne onto the carpet, something that was really bugging him. When were they going to leave? He wanted to leave and go see Alfred, but his strict sense of common courtesy made him refrain from doing so and also the high likelihood that Matthew would find his room in an utterly disgusting state if he let his dad and his crazy friends do as they wanted.

As Matthew contemplated, Gilbert strode towards Matthew, smiling a modicum too widely.

“I don’t have diarrhoea,” he whispered not-so-discreetly into Matthew’s ear.

“Uh, OK,” said Matthew nervously and he stared at Gilbert in vague disgust. “That’s good, I guess but if you don’t mind me asking, why did you say so?” Had he discovered Lovino?  
“Well, I kinda found Lovi in the bathroom and we made a deal so now I need to help him leave ‘cos you and I both know that Franny doesn’t leave easily.” replied Gilbert, scratching the back of his head. “So do you have any ideas?”

Gilbert, the most unreasonable-looking ‘uncle’ of his actually seemed a tiny bit sensible! Matthew breathed a sigh of relief that there was at least someone he could depend on.  
“How about…” Before Matthew could say anything however, the roaring laughter dimmed subito. Why?

A stout blond man was wrenching his way up the outside of Matthew’s window, teeth gritted in determination but eyes filled with abject fear.  
“West?!” cried Gilbert, nonplussed. “What is happening?”

West? Matthew supposed it was some kind of nickname, albeit a weird one. “Is that Ludwig?” Gilbert grinned all teeth and nodded fondly and proudly.

“That’s my little brother Ludwig there. I have no idea what he’s doing but maybe it’s some kind of romantic gesture for Feli!” Matthew strongly doubted this was the case but remained silent.

Slowly, Ludwig reached up a shaking hand and in a flash, cupped in the crook of his elbow was a small tortoiseshell cat. Matthew immediately dashed over to open the window and gave Gilbert a word-filled look that said: It’s Lovino’s chance.

Antonio and France dashed out towards the window too, completely dropping the champagne, much to Matthew’s dismay and also Gilbert’s (he was a secret cleanaholic, German blood, my friends) but he walked on, to the bathroom before twisting the bathroom door open and hissing ‘Get out of here’ to Lovino, who shot out like lightning and ran out the door.

Finally, he was free! As Lovino stretched his legs and tasted the sweet taste of freedom, his eyes caught another man, who looked suspiciously similar to Matthew. He had similar blond hair and eyes and glasses but he looked much livelier and ugh. He was wearing a shirt emblazoned with the American flag in bold colours and Crocs with socks. For some reason he also appeared to be wearing loose knee-length shorts over his jeans. Who was this Matthew doppelganger and how dare he?

“Hellooo, I’m Alfred!” yelled the man extremely loudly, seeming unintentionally too. He had a thick American accent that kept changing as he spoke. “I’m looking for my brother Mattie! Have…you…seen…him?” He suddenly slowed into halting English when he realised Lovino might be a foreigner.

“I can speak English, dumbass,” huffed Lovino, “And I know where your brother is. But I can’t tell you right now because I think he’s busy – wait, you’re Alfred?”

“Yup, yup!” nodded Alfred cheerfully, “Alfred F. Jones. Boy, that sounded sick like James Bond you know, I mean, I’m Jones, Alfred F. Jones!”

“The F doesn’t really work,” pointed out Lovino, “It’s not snappy anymore.” Alfred was certainly different to Matthew, wasn’t he? And his accent was also vaguely British, whereas Matthew had a slight French twinge where he rolled his ‘r’s occasionally.

“Fratelllooooo!” Lovino shrieked as someone ran up the corridor extremely slowly, naked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tbh, have no idea how Lovino will get everyone to their final destination because I don't have shit planned out. I've just been making it up as I go along which is probably why everything is so crackish and melodramatic. 
> 
> Oh well.


	5. Gee willikers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovino escapes this mess maybe...a certain someone makes his reappearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, just shoot me. But the update is here. Hope you enjoy!

“Feli?!” cried Lovino aghast at his brother’s lax nudist tendencies. His Feliciano protective mechanisms kicked in. Protecting himself from Feliciano, that is. With a quick fluid motion, Lovino ripped his shirt off like Antonio had done and yanked it over his airheaded brother, slightly improving the situation.

Making quick work, Lovino’s eyes scanned around for clothes and his eyes locked on Alfred’s ugly camouflage shorts. Whatever. Even if it was an abomination of colours that made him cringe, maybe Feliciano could pull it off.

“Dude…what are you-hey!” cried Alfred indignantly as Lovino grabbed his shorts and pulled downwards, tripping the confused man backwards onto the carpeted floor. Now fully-clothed, Lovino stopped holding Feliciano at an arm’s length and was promptly tackled to the ground with a ‘Ve’.

“Maybe you could’ve asked me before you took my clothes?” said Alfred. “I wanted to be the hero.” He looked quite disgruntled. Lovino stared at him in amazement and extricated Feli’s spaghetti limbs from himself. Oh, the joys of having a brother...

Hero? What heroics could possibly be involved in this situation, beside preventing an accidental case of unintentional sexual assault? If someone went and got Feli arrested for public indecency, Lovino sure as hell didn't have the cash to cover the lawyer.

“Are you actually stupid?” hissed Lovino, dusting down his trousers and wishing that he had a shirt on. Not that he was fat, when they were broke as fuck, he'd cut down a little on the weekly tiramisu. It had made quite a difference which just proved that Grandpa's portions were about five times the size of everyone else's.

“Did you say something?” asked Alfred, cluelessly whistling while glancing around this other infinitely long corridor that they were in. Basically , he had ignored the last comment so far. “Also, have you seen my dad?” What was he, a lost child?

With the sigh of a long-suffering man, Lovino shook his head then turned to Feli, about to lecture this idiot about the importance of clothes. “Why are you NAKED?!” he cried, hands on hips.

“Well…um…I’m not sure,” said Feli after a moment of bamboozlement, “…oh! I was going to see the kitty that Luddy rescued for me! Do you want to see too, fratello?” He paused, then turned to Alfred, who appeared to be suffering from some acute stress syndrome. This has to be the most eccentric person Lovino had ever met. But then there was Grandpa...

“You-you-you cloned yourself! OMG! Area 51’s secrets have been revealed! Tony, can you believe it?” It seemed he was speaking more to himself than anyone else.

“This is my twin brother.” said Lovino acidly, not wanting to put up with people who were lowering his IQ by the second. His brain cells weren’t of excess to begin with so he needed to protect the dwindling ones that he already had.

“Oh…right,” replied Alfred after a moment, looking super crestfallen. “You must be the younger brother.” Lovino bristled but contained himself with superhuman willpower.

“Dang it,” muttered Alfred under his breath, right as Feli linked both of his arms around the two of them and began dragging them in the direction of the hotel room that Lovino had just escaped from.

“You fetchitechet thang, you!”

Lovino’s eyeballs nearly popped at this extremely weird exclamation of surprise from Alfred as he struggled against the steel grip of Feli, who had a tendency to ‘power up’ when he was truly passionate about something. He’d seen the blithering cat already!

“Just my southern side coming out,” said Alfred as a way of explanation. Lovino immediately began speculating just how many sides Alfred had. As well as all the points on a compass, there was also his British side. They were still being dragged along by Feli and his one-track mind. Even if Lovino relaxed every muscle in his body till he became as limp as a rag doll, Feli continued to lug him with relative ease, not noticing half his torso laying on the ground.

Fuck, now he had carpet burn. It was also highly possibly that Matthew’s room (god bless him) had been turned into a shitstorm of so-called merrymakers making Matthew anything but merry. As much as Lovino liked him, it wasn’t worth the sacrifice.

“Gee willikers!” blurted Alfred, “I can usually throw around an ox easily but your brother is from another dimension altogether!” As Lovino approached his impending doom, the slightly ajar door caused Feli to slacken his grip ever so much, but still not enough for him to wriggle away.

“Luddy!” sang out Feli, “Did you rescue him?” Some babbling broke out on the other side of the door, along with some mutterings of ‘Feliciano?’

“I’ll get the door,” someone called and the door began to move. The critical hour began as Lovino began to make his escape like Houdini, snapping his arm out of Feli’s and charging in as fast as he could in the other direction, back to the safety of his own room. Unluckily for Alfred, he got sucked through the vortex into the maelstrom, although he didn't seem to particularly mind. As Lovino ran, loud sneezing started emitting from the room.

“Lovi, is that you?” Lovino heard the Spanish accent but resolutely tore off in the other direction, only to hear footsteps pounding after him. This was not part of the plan at all.

“Go away, you tomato bastard!” he yelled, voice made choppy by his gasps for air. The footsteps continued. Well, shit.

The plan: Sprint the fuck back to his room, go in and slam the door in Antonio's face, then gloat over his imminent victory.

*

Finally, the comfort of his own room was before him and as Lovino swiped his card for entry, the sensor flashed red, maybe because he swiped it too fast. In his careless fumbling, he dropped the card on the floor and just as he bent over to retrieve it, another hand stretched out and picked it up.

“Loviii! Why did you run away when I called you?” whined Antonio, not at all acting like an adult in their late twenties. Lovino straightened up and found himself face-to-face with an unintentional smiley face cosplay.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he snapped, “I don’t want to see you.” Antonio stepped closer, disregarding of all hostility. It seemed all negativity bounced off his shell.

“Come on…why so hostile?” As for that…well he wasn’t really sure himself. Antonio did have this warm carefree air about him but Lovino’s instincts screamed out danger, like they had done with Ludwig. He was absolutely certain that his instincts were rarely ever wrong.

“Also, why are you shirtless?”

“Feli was naked again.” No other explanation was needed.

“Oh…” Antonio looked as if he were struggling to steer the conversation away from troubled and very awkward waters. “Are you having fun on your holiday so far?” To which the answer was a definite no.

After eating enough tomatoes to knock himself out, he was forced to admit that he was in a better mood than ever but Lovino’s nerves were also frayed with stress and fatigue from all these high-risk situations, somehow all involving Antonio’s sleazy friends. He was also constantly bothered by the fact that Feli was lumping the potato bastard around – well he didn’t approve.

Although…it was more like he didn’t want to approve. For years, Lovino had been in constant denial of his baby brother growing up and becoming independent and the thought of sweet, innocent Feli being involved in any kind of romance before he was, that was just appalling in itself. Maybe it was also his own embarrassing lack of experience in this certain department, seeing as Lovino had his hands full with trying to take care of the family and passing his university exams too.

His parents were no longer alive, after disappearing on a cruise ship that never reached its destination, which had been Turkey. He was probably around eleven when this happened, which took him and Feli to Grandpa's farm. All seemed to be going well until Grandpa had a minor stroke in his last year of secondary school, leaving Grandpa bedridden and burdening Lovino as the more mature of the twins.

Antonio frowned at him. "So are you not enjoying this holiday, then? That's quite a shame." There was a sort of relaxed calm gathering around the two of them as they stood there awkwardly, not quite looking one another in the eye. Antonio still clutched the card in his hand.

"Honestly...it's been a mixed bag. Too much shit is happening." He savagely answered the question, almost growling in the end. "Also, maybe the fact that Feli is with the potato bastard gives me the urge to kill about five times a day."

"Ahaha..." Antonio answered, scratching his head at how to answer next. Brown eyes earnestly peered right through him. "Well, I really hope things look up for you during the rest of it..." Had Lovi always been this difficult to deal with? Yes, even as a child, his temper tantrums had been a sight to behold. The conversation was also becoming incredibly one-sided and closer to an interview than anything else. Perhaps it would be best if Antonio backed off for now. He sighed quietly, mildly disappointed.

"Hey, Antonio," Lovino suddenly said, startling Antonio. Lovino had just remembered what Francis had told him earlier, something about 'knowing Toni' from a while ago, to which Lovino hadn't the foggiest idea.

"The French guy that's apparently your friend said something about you knowing me 'all those years ago'." Lovino couldn't quite keep the accusing tone out of his voice as he pointedly stared at Antonio, the tomato bastard. "But he wouldn't tell me what he meant by that. What's your take on this?"

"Francis said that?" cried Antonio, unable to hide his utmost shock at his friend's utter idiocy. He was going to have a serious talk with Francis later. If Francis had hid the fact that he had a damn adopted son then Antonio could keep some of his eggs in his basket too. "You must have heard wrong! I mean, I think I recognised Feli and you from somewhere but maybe in passing from Gil."

Lovino's eyes squinted with suspicion. There was no mistaking the shifty tone and the teetering pitch of Antonio's usually smooth, relaxed voice. The silence opened back up as they stared at each other intensely, neither one blinking, now locked in an unspoken eyeballing competition.

Was there something familiar about him? Did he really know this laughing face? Lovino peered at Antonio, trying to force himself to remember.

A shadowy memory edged it's way to the front of his mind. There was only a snatch of it and it felt crackled around the edges but in his mind Lovino recalled the farm.

Farmers worked on farms! That was in itself obvious. Lovino had helped Grandpa manage the accounts and business and their pay. A figure with a ridiculously large straw hat dipping over their face, casting it in a dark shadow from the sun setting behind blurred in his mind. The sky was crimson, with lolling clouds tinted with wine and cast with candy-floss.

Meanwhile, Antonio was buzzing at this...whatever it was and stuttered out an apology for the entire kerfuffle going down in poor Mattie's room. Lovino jerked, losing the competition.

Mentally, he cursed and rubbed his dried out eyeballs. His eyes were still recovering from Feli's constant abuse. Oh yes and the other thing. The Bad Touch Trio were keeping something from Lovino, which made him beyond infuriated.

They were all bastards. A happy tomato bastard. One stinking wine bastard. That left the second potato bastard. Or should he be the beer bastard? If Antonio wasn't going to spill then Lovino would take a crack at the other two. Besides, Gilbert still had this favour cycle rotating between them. No doubt, he was absolutely going to get to the bottom of this, no matter how many bastards he needed to knock out the way in the process.

Only when he entered his room, after snatching back his room card, did Lovino realise he'd been shirtless through this exchange. And that the sound of Antonio saying 'Lovi' and 'Feli' seemed much less obtrusive than he'd first assumed.

 

*

A certain gentleman whom we haven't seen for a while frantically stomped down the corridor of this multicultural hotel, his feet managing to thud out loud bangs, reverberating through the thick spongy carpets. A lot of Arthur's strength was draining into his angry stomping.

It was purely mortifying that even at nineteen, it was perfectly normal for Arthur to check up on Alfred at regular intervals, much like how one would panic over their young child. For Pete's sake, Alfred was an adult by British definitions!

He refused to call himself overprotective of Alfred but rather he was protecting everyone else FROM Alfred, who was depressingly all brawn and no brain, being able to fling cows around but struggled with the concept of a+b=c. Now where was that little tyke?

Trouble followed this hyperactive man-child. You have no idea how many sticky situations Arthur had to extricate him from, be it bullies or injuries. When Arthur had found out his beloved second cousin's children were being put into care, he'd searched for them everywhere.

Exactly how many children his second cousin Lawrence had he was uncertain but Arthur had chanced on Alfred and taken him in. At the time he mildly regretted signing up to deal with this petulant, boisterous child but at the same time, undeniable fondness held them close like glue.

Right now was one of Arthur's regretful moments. Alfred left his phone in his room and Arthur was getting skittish over the location of his beloved son. He'd been combing the catacombs of corridors for a while -this hotel had six whopping floors, to no avail.

Agitation was setting quickly like cement in his over-used muscles as he strode past yet another corridor only to hear...screaming? Very loud noises? Possibly...? Where Alfred went, many decibels followed.

Quickly backtracking, Arthur noticed that there was a room door slightly ajar, where said screaming was emanating. There was a mixture of young and old voices so Arthur peered through the crack, eyes landing on a golden-haired boy with glasses...who wasn't Alfred. It was...Matthew!? Did that mean Alfred was here?

Arthur's eyes swivelled to see the broad, hunched back of Alfred crouched next to a giggling younger man...playing with what appeared to be a kitten?

In his anger, Arthur stormed through the door, slamming the already battered door into the wall again.

"Alfred, you utter fool!" He roared loudly, silencing the din at once. Quickly he lowered his voice. "You're allergic to animals?"

"Oh, it's these dulcet tones again," a lazy voice rippled out near him. A smug smirk was displayed all too clearly in that remark. Arthur whipped round only to see the odd cloaked Frenchman from the other day. Matthew's so-called father.

"You!" bellowed Arthur, jabbing a finger at him. "W-why are you here?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure that no one says what Alfred says but it sounded so ridiculously dumb I wanted to put it in.
> 
> Will see you next chapter (hopefully within July).


End file.
